


Like a Firecracker all Aglow

by Baeb



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternative Universe - 1980s, Anal Sex, Bottom Daryl Dixon, Child Abuse, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Maybe a meet cute?, Pre-Apocalypse, Pretty much a Daryl Dixon character study, Racist Language, Statutory Rape but not between desus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23662693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baeb/pseuds/Baeb
Summary: The rules suddenly change, and things that used to be okay aren’t anymore and Daryl spends months trying to find his footing. After coming home late from school and talking back to his dad, Will locks Daryl outside for the night to sleep on the porch (halfway through the frigid night Merle comes out and tosses him a blanket). In the morning, Will brings Daryl inside and sits him down in front of a stack of pancakes made from his mom’s recipe card. Sticky syrup drips down the sides and puddles onto the plate. Will leans against the counter and tells a story about him and Jesse in their military days. Eventually Daryl’s hands stop shaking.///Or: a bit of a character study of a young, queer Daryl Dixon
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Jesus, Daryl Dixon/Paul Rovia
Comments: 13
Kudos: 78





	Like a Firecracker all Aglow

Part One: 1981 - 1989

Will Dixon wasn’t always an angry man. Daryl remembers long summer evenings in the backyard learning how to load a shotgun. He remembers helping flip the burgers on the barbeque and picking cherry tomatoes from the potted plants on the back porch after weeks of tending to them. He remembers spending afternoons watching football games and hollering alongside his dad, even though he wasn’t sure of the rules. He remembers the hunting trip when he bagged his first deer – how his dad pulled him into a noogie and then called up Uncle Jesse to brag as soon as they got home.

Daryl remembers his parents lazily swing dancing in the kitchen with Merle Haggard’s voice crooning over the radio in the background. He remembers sneaking out of his window into the backyard when the screaming escalated and he remembers the purple and yellow splotches that never seemed to fade from his mother’s arms. He remembers Will pressing kisses to his mother’s forehead and the way that Sadie Dixon’s eyes would soften and her entire face would relax.

~-~-~

Daryl’s is eleven years old when his mother dies. He watches as Will crumbles apart.

Grief quickly morphs into anger, and moonshine becomes Will’s primary coping mechanism. Will’s pissed at god for his shitty life – working a shitty job, driving a shitty truck, and living in a shitty trailer. He’s pissed at his wife for leaving him to raise two kids he didn’t really want to have in the first place. He’s pissed at Merle because the kid can’t seem to keep himself out of trouble. He’s pissed at Daryl because he looks just like _that dumb bitch_ , with her clear blue eyes and her dainty nose.

The rules suddenly change, and things that used to be okay aren’t anymore and Daryl spends months trying to find his footing. After coming home late from school and talking back to his dad, Will locks Daryl outside for the night to sleep on the porch ( _halfway through the frigid night Merle comes out and tosses him a blanket_ ). In the morning, Will brings Daryl inside and sits him down in front of a stack of pancakes made from his mom’s recipe card. Sticky syrup drips down the sides and puddles onto the plate. Will leans against the counter and tells a story about him and Jesse in their military days. Eventually Daryl’s hands stop shaking.

Then there’s yelling and thrown bottles, little glass shards exploding on the floor like fireworks. Because Daryl failed _another_ math test at school. Because Merle tried robbing a convenience store and has to do another stint in the Georgia Juvenile Detention Center.

~-~-~

As a Christian Women, Sadie Dixon always insisted that every Sunday her boys go to church and bible study. For a few months after her death, Will keeps taking Daryl. Now though, he drops Daryl off in the parking lot and doesn’t come in. Daryl reckons him and god are having a fight.

One day, the group leader talks to them about healthy marriages, about loving and serving your partner under god, about marrying your best friend. Daryl’s eleven and flippantly asks _but what happens if your best friend is boy_. The group leader’s eyes go wide she sucks in a deep breath through her teeth before hurriedly preaching about the wrath god has for the gays and their sins. ( _The thought never crossed Daryl’s mind before._ )

The group leader tells Will. Once they get home, Will breaks out the belt and tells Daryl that the pain is nothing compared to the pain of burning in hell. Hits harder when Daryl starts crying because only faggots cry. Daryl has to change in the bathroom stall instead of the locker room before gym class the next day. Will stops taking him to the church altogether after that. Tells Daryl he should be too ashamed to show his face there again.

~-~-~

Daryl starts drinking. Bottles of moonshine and whiskey are scattered around the house. Childish curiosity abundant, it doesn’t take long before Daryl tries a swig of it for himself. The first gulp burns his throat and his nose, but then warmth spreads through his chest. A couple more swallows and Daryl feels lighter then he ever has before. He starts collecting partial bottles and storing them under his bed next to the cigarettes he’s been sneaking for years.

~-~-~

Eventually, Daryl stops referring to him as _dad_ and starts referring to him as _Will_. Will’s just his alcoholic roommate that pays the rent. In order to pay him back, all Daryl has to do is follow the rules. He gets better and better at staying quiet. Early on, he learns to stop arguing. It takes a while longer to figure out how to stop tears from coming and how to make himself scarce. He becomes light on his feet, tiptoeing around the house.

~-~-~

It’s not difficult to guess what would happen to a faggot under Will’s roof. Daryl would be lucky if he lived long enough to see a hospital bed instead of a hole dug into the forest ground. It really doesn’t bother him though – Daryl’s known that Will hates fags just as long as he’s known that he hates spics and Indians and white collared socialites in their fancy houses. Will resents anyone that’s different or more successful then him.

Daryl’s pretty much always known that he’s a fag. There was really never any question about it - no cursing god or the heavens. He knew it when his dick got hard watching Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones.

He knew it when he was fourteen years old and got fucked for the first time. Merle was home again for a few months, but talking about joining the military now that he was old enough. He started bringing a buddy around the house a lot to _shoot the shit_ with. Clyde was twenty-two with thick shoulders and a permanent smirk. He called Daryl sexy as he bent him over the kitchen counter, sloppily shoving a couple of rough fingers up his ass before pushing his dick in. Daryl had never come so hard in his life – he just had to reach down and lightly palm himself before he was shooting off. He thought about it whenever he touched himself for months.

Will doesn’t make _exceptions_. Not even for his kids. Daryl knows this. He learns how to lie.

~-~-~

Will loses his job at the lumber mill for _no goddamn reason_. The same evening, Daryl drops a tool chest on his foot on the way out to work on the car and breaks his foot in three places. Daryl writes Merle a letter the next day but never gets a response back.

~-~-~

Will buys Daryl a shiny, new Horton Scout crossbow for his sixteenth birthday. He claps him on the shoulder and tells him he’s proud of the man he’s turning out to be. He tells Daryl that they’re going to go on a hunting trip the following weekend so he can test it out.

The weekend comes and goes and they don’t go on the hunting trip. But Daryl spends hours outside, driving bolt after bolt into his homemade targets. He practices dropping to the ground and firing. He practices firing while shuffling backwards. He’s so exhausted by the time he gets to bed, that he doesn’t even need the swigs of stolen booze to help him fall asleep.

~-~-~

Merle finishes his prison sentence following his dishonorable discharge from the military. He moves back home. The carefully created balance between Will and Daryl is disrupted. Where Daryl has learned to become quiet and avoidant, Merle is still rowdy and confrontational. When Will swings, Merle punches back. Daryl finds himself escaping the house to sleep under the stars.

Merle’s fond of his little brother. He tucks him under his arm and brings him to all of his buddy’s houses with him. Sometimes he rails meth with Merle and his boys; he likes the buzz of energy it gives him but doesn’t like afterwards when it feels like he has an itch he can’t scratch. Merle teaches him how to ride his motorcycle and only laughs a little the first time he wrecks.

Merle talks about eating pussy and, when Daryl’s nose scrunches up, Merle laughs and calls him _Darylina_ or a _prude_. He likes to remind Daryl about that time as a kid that he _came out_ to the church leader. Merle wasn’t even living at home when it happened, but Will told him all about it years later. Merle doesn’t know about the beating he got for it, and Daryl doesn’t think he’d find it as funny as he does if he knew the truth. They don’t actually think Daryl’s a queer, they just think it’s something funny to give Daryl shit about.

It hits a little too close to home, so every once in a while Daryl will fuck a girl. It’s not bad. A warm pussy wrapped around his cock still feels good. He keeps his eyes closed. It usually takes him a while to come, but the girls just gush about how long he’s able to keep it up. Sometimes he’ll pull the condom off and fuck them raw just because the _taboo_ of it helps to get him off quicker.

~-~-~

Three months before Daryl is set to graduate from high school, Will Dixon kicks the bucket. He dies in bed. Nobody even notices until the next evening when Merle finds the body. The doctors call it a stroke. They pick the cheapest burial package the funeral home has to offer. Even if they wanted to, they can’t afford anything else. Daryl doesn’t cry at the service.

He does cry afterwards though, late that night, in the safety of his room. He cries because of the overwhelming sense of relief that consumes him. It only lasts for a minute before being replaced by guilt that sits heavy on his chest. What kind of monster is he that he’s glad his own dad is dead? After all, Will is the same man that took him on fishing trips, always to be followed by strawberry milkshakes at the local dinner.

Daryl can’t talk to Merle about stuff like this because Dixon men don’t discuss feelings. In conversation, Merle refers to Will as a _bastard_. But Daryl catches him going through Will’s belongings a week after his death. He has their dad’s souvenir pocketknife clutched in one hand and an old photograph in the other. He sits there studying it for as long as Daryl pauses in the doorway before sneaking away.

~-~-~

Will Dixon was far from a wealthy man. He owned nothing of real value. Merle can’t afford to keep the trailer on his own, so Daryl gets a job working night shifts at the local gas station as a clerk. He drops out of school, because Daryl’s eighteen now, and it seems pointless to finish when he already has a job and they need the money.

His boss, Mr. Douglas, is black. Daryl can practically sense the dirt covering Will’s fresh grave shifting. But Mr. Douglas doesn’t care that Daryl does the absolute minimum or that he smokes on the job so Daryl really doesn’t give a shit what color he is.

It’s a boring gig - Daryl can go hours of his shift at a time with nobody coming in or even driving by. One of Daryl’s neighbors from down the street was moving and was throwing out a bunch of stuff, so Daryl rescued a box of books she had left on the curb by the garbage bin. Daryl’s never been much of a reader, but he has been taking one along to every shift with him. Merle gives him shit for it, tells him he _aint gunna learn nothing useful from kids stories_ ; Daryl rolls his eyes, tells Merle he’s just jealous cause he don’t know how to read.

~-~-~

September comes around, and Daryl gets a new regular at the gas station. Pretty much everyone that comes in is a regular - since Jasper is a small town and there are only two stations in the whole place to choose from. But the new regular is someone Daryl’s never seen before despite working at the station for months and living in the town since birth. The first time the kid comes in, Daryl doesn’t pay much mind, just grunts as he rings up his order and doesn’t think anything more of it. Figures he won’t ever see him again.

By the third time he comes in, Daryl finally caves and asks, “So, you must be new to town? Never seen you around before.”

The kid seems surprised by Daryl talking to him, he fumbles a bit with pulling the dollar bills out of his pocket. It takes a few moments, but once the kid starts talking it’s hard to get him to stop. Daryl’s curious, so he takes a little longer then normal to scan up the kid’s items (red vines, a pack of cigarettes, cough drops).

The kid’s name is Paul. He was born in Seattle, Washington but has lived in over six states. They moved for his dad’s work. He just started last week at Pickens High School. Says that classes are classes but the kids that make up his senior class are an odd group. Filled with _farm boys_ and _buttermilk princesses_. Sound about right.

Daryl typically isn’t one to socialize much with the customers. But Paul isn’t bad to look at. He’s cute with short, fluffy hair and big blue-green eyes. Paul’s correct, he doesn’t fit the mold for the kinds of kids that this town turns out. Daryl’s never been interested in anyone he went to high school with. But he’s jacked it a few times to the thought of Paul’s pretty face.

~-~-~

“Are you reading?”

Daryl slaps the book closed with a scowl.

“Nothin’ much better to do at one on the morning.”

“Hey, I’m not judging you. What is that? Are you reading Lois Lowry?”

“What about it?” Daryl glares, shielding the cover of the book by laying his palm flat over it and pulling it into his lap.

“Just doesn’t seem like the type of book you’d be interested in, is all. Do you like it?”

“It’s fine. Didn’t pick it out for myself. It’s kinda slow.”

Paul hums. “You ever read Stephen King before?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Well he’s good. Definitely not slow. Lots of freaky stuff. I have a couple of his books, I could let you borrow them if you wanted.”

“Nah, don’t need to do that.”

“Ohh-kay, if you say so.”

~-~-~

The next time Paul comes in, he’s carrying a stack of three books. He grins at Daryl and slides them across the counter.

“I know you said not to, but I brought these for you anyways. Can’t have you falling asleep at work after all. Who would sell me my red vines?”

Daryl’s cheeks redden, he glances at the top cover of two men fighting in a dessert.

“That ones about biological warfare gone wrong. Causes the apocalypse,” Paul continues on. “It’s my favorite.”

“Biological warfare?” Daryl asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Yeah, like some scientists try and weaponize influenza and then all hell breaks loose.”

“Oh.”

“I told you way more interesting then the stuff you were reading.”

“You didn’t have to. But thanks. I’ll take good care of em.”

“I know you will.”

When Paul leaves, Daryl watches him walk all the way to the door. His jeans are real tight. For a skinny guy, he has a nice ass. Paul glances over his shoulder as he pulls open the door, catches Daryl staring. His eyebrows raise a little.

~-~-~

In October, Daryl starts spending his Wednesday mornings working under the old man that owns Bailey’s Auto Repair. He doesn’t get paid yet, since Roscoe’s doing him a favor by training him up. Daryl’s good with his hands and Roscoe says if he spends enough time on it then someday he might be able to be a certified mechanic.

~-~-~

The next time Paul comes around, he tries to buy a bottle of whiskey.

“Yeah, can I see some ID?” Daryl says, rolling his eyes. He flicks his finger at the little yellow sign by the register that says ‘ _To purchase alcohol, a person must be 21 years of age born on or before today’s date in 1967_.’

“Awh, come on Daryl. I thought we were friends?” Paul offers a mischievous smile.

“Sorry man, I don’t make the rules. Yeah know, ya probably shouldn’t’ve told me you’re in high school if you were gunna try and buy booze from me.”

“Figured it was worth a shot. You know, there’s not much to do in this place.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a good way for me to lose my job. But, uh, I got a stash of moonshine at my house.” Daryl pauses and a moment passes. Then another. “If ya, uh, ever wanted to come over.”

“Oh really? Moonshine. How’s that?

“Oh it’s a bitch for a while til ya get used to it.”

“That sounds like a challenge. What about your parents?”

“I live with my brother.”

“Okay, well, sign me up then.”

“I’m off on Saturday?”

“See you this weekend.”

~-~-~

Daryl really hasn’t ever spent much time thinking about it, but their place is a bit of a shit hole. Outdated and on the dirty side. He paces a little before Paul’s supposed to come over. He does the dirty dishes and opens up a couple windows. Moves the pipe off of the coffee table and into Merle’s room. Paces a little more.

Merle’s on his way out of the house for the night when he pauses and asks Daryl what the hell he’s up to. Daryl shrugs, says he has a friend coming over. Merle thinks it’s a girl. Daryl tells him it’s not. Tell him to fuck off. Merle chuckles and throws a wink over his shoulder as he leaves.

Paul shows up an hour later. He drops his bike off next to the front porch.

“Sorry, the place is a bit of a shit hole,” Daryl says, as soon as Paul steps inside.

Paul shrugs and says, “I’ve lived in shittier. Doesn’t bother me.”

Paul’s nosy. Daryl already knew this. He wanders around with wide eyes, taking in his surroundings. He thumbs the starfish magnet on the fridge that has ‘Myrtle Beach’ painted on it. It’s been up there for years, Daryl’s not quite sure where it came from. Paul picks up the crossbow leaning up against the wall in the living room, asks Daryl if he knows how to use it. Asks Daryl to show him how to use it sometime.

Daryl pulls out two glasses from the cupboard. They’re foggy and water stained but clean. Pulls a bottle of hooch and a bottle of whiskey off the top of the fridge. Settles in on the couch. Daryl takes the side with the duct taped cushion. Paul plops down next to him. Daryl flicks on the TV set and starts pours a couple fingers of whiskey into each glass. He tries to keep his shoulders relaxed.

They get tipsy. Paul’s normally a talker, but with a little alcohol in his system he talks even more then normal. Daryl hardly even has to respond, which he is grateful for. He talks about the stuck up kids in his school. He talks about martial arts and how before he moved he used to take classes for it. He misses it. He talks about the movie he watched last week ( _Weird Science_ ) and how stupid it was. Daryl slumps into the couch a little, feeling warm, enjoying the sound of Paul’s voice.

As Paul talks, Daryl can’t help but stare at his lips. They’re pink and soft and full and Daryl wants to touch them. Paul stops talking and Daryl’s eyes jerk up to meet his. Daryl is trying to find something to say when Paul scotches closer on the couch. And then, Paul’s fingers are twisting into the collar of Daryl’s shirt and he’s being hauled into a sloppy kiss. Before rational thought can stop him, Daryl’s kissing back. The alcohol buzzing in his head means all Daryl can think about his how soft Paul’s lips are. Paul’s using too much tongue, so Daryl cups his face and uses the leverage to rein things back a bit, so that it’s little brushes of lips and small flicks of tongue, with Paul groaning, desperate for more.

It takes several minutes before Daryl has the sense to break away and say, “What the fuck, Paul?” Why does Paul think he can get away with this? Why doesn’t he seem worried about Daryl knocking his teeth in?

“Nu-uh, no talking,” Paul mutters against his lips and he pushes in for another kiss. His hands are suddenly pressing at the zipper of Daryl’s jeans, pawing at his dick. Daryl’s already half hard and Paul seems to want to touch him. Daryl can’t say no to that.

Paul’s climbing into his lap, straddling him, kissing him. Daryl gets his fingers wrapped in that fluffy hair and pulls. Paul moans into the kiss. Daryl’s hand moves from Paul’s hip to get a handful of his ass.

Daryl feels drunker then he ever has before, even though he hasn’t had _that_ much to drink. There is a pit in Daryl’s stomach that keeps drawing him closer and closer to Paul, something deeper then just the urge to get off. It’s a feeling that Daryl’s gotten before around Paul, but now that they’re touching it feels like they’re on the downhill ramp of a rollercoaster.

He doesn’t care if it’s a bad idea. He doesn’t even care why it’s happening.

It’s easy to unbutton Paul’s jean and pull his cock out, to trace over the sticky head of it with his thumb. Paul whimpers. After a moment, he goes for Daryl’s clothes and fumbles. Daryl laughs.

“Jesus, you’re trashed.”

Daryl moves Paul’s fingers out of the way and unbuttons his own pants. Gets both their dicks out and in his hand. Paul shimmies his hips to rut against each other, dry skin catching on dry skin until a few drops of pre-cum dribble from Paul’s dick to ease the way.

In a breathy grunt, Paul clutches at his shoulders. He says, “God I wanna fuck you. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Oh yeah? You wanna fuck me in the ass like some kind of faggot? What makes you think I’d let ya do that?” but Daryl’s voice sounds wrecked and he doesn’t stop moving his hand.

“Would you? Please?” and then he’s reaching down and around. Paul’s hands slipping into the waistband of Daryl’s pants to try and palm at his ass. Daryl’s dick twitches. A finger slips between his ass cheeks, brushing lightly at his hole.

Daryl’s moan is involuntary, so is the way his hips stutter. The tip of Paul’s finger slides in for just a second before being withdrawn. Paul whimpers.

Fuck it.

Daryl’s pushing at Paul’s hips, moving him to the side. He grabs Paul’s hand and then pulls him to his room, onto his bed. He wriggles free of his pants and pulls out a bottle of lotion, offering it out. Paul doesn’t pause before taking it and climbing in between Daryl’s spread legs.

Then there is a finger, sliding in easy and pressed just right. His fingers are long, a little bony. Daryl bites his tongue trying to stop a moan. Paul seems to know what he’s doing. Daryl wonders if he’s done this before or if he just does it to himself.

Daryl’s mind is fuzzy, leaning back on his elbows. His eyes are closed as little threads of pleasure shot through his body. Paul works up to three fingers. Daryl has to stop himself from pushing back onto Paul’s fingers like a whore.

Daryl smears some lotion on Paul’s cock. It’s got a nice curve to it, seems like it will hit just the right place. He puts his palm centered on Paul’s chest and pushes, Paul rolls with it and falls onto his back. He climbs onto Paul’s lap, grabbing his cock and sinking down in one smooth motion. Paul’s fingers are gripping tight on Daryl’s hips, fingernails leaving little crescent moon imprints.

“Oh fuck, Daryl,” Paul whines. Daryl shivers.

Daryl braces himself on Paul’s shoulders for leverage before he starts moving on Paul’s dick. The way Paul’s dick drags against that spot inside him with every movement makes his thighs tremble.

Paul wraps his hand around Daryl’s cock, strokes it slowly. Coaxes out a drool of slick. It’s a lot and Daryl’s keyed up. Every movement feels like scratching a persistent itch, makes him shiver, makes him go faster.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” Paul says, breath warm on Daryl’s neck.

Daryl kind of wants to punch him. Instead he whimpers and comes all over Paul’s shirt. Daryl’s lost in it for a moment. When thoughts come back to him, he starts moving his hips again, he wants Paul to feel good too. It doesn’t take long before Paul’s fingers are tangled in Daryl hair and he’s crying out.

He stays on Paul’s lap for a couple minutes, ass clenching with aftershocks. He blinks lazily. Sighing, he lifts up enough for Paul’s dick to slide out. He can feel the come threatening to leak out so he grabs his used underwear, wipes himself up the best he can. Wipes Paul’s dick off a little too.

Paul sighs, pulls his jeans back up his hips, throws Daryl a lazy smile. Daryl blushes. Can’t help but feel like the gayer one – taking it up the ass, coming first, getting called _beautiful_. It’s embarrassing.

“So, how was it for you?” Paul asks, grinning, fishing for compliments.

“’S okay.”

“Just okay? Dude, you came so –“

“Yeah, whatever. Man, pull your pants up before my brother gets home.”

~-~-~

Daryl doesn’t do relationships. Doesn’t want to feel like he owes someone something. Doesn’t want to come out. It doesn’t matter that whenever he sees Paul his stomach drops and his heart flutters.

Despite this, Daryl keeps inviting Paul over to his house. He likes fooling around with Paul. Likes getting fucked and getting his dick sucked. Likes how Paul never acts like it’s a _big deal_ , just chatters on about random shit and never really talks too much about the sex part.

Boys like Paul are destined to grow up and get married to a nice girl, get a nine to five job at an office pushing papers, and have two kids. Boys like Daryl will never live that life – Daryl thinks it’s a tossup as to if he’s going to get killed by one of Merle’s contacts or wither away from AIDS. But years down the road when Paul’s married and bored, Daryl hopes to be a fond memory. He hopes that Paul will think about him and how tight his ass was as he fucks his wife like it’s a chore.

~-~-~

“I love you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“It’s okay if you don’t say it back. But I just wanted you to know that I do. Love you I mean.”

“We’re not dating,” he says, because he needs to.

“Okay… are you fucking other people?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not your boyfriend. I won’t ever be your boyfriend. I don’t do relationships.”

“Okay, okay. I believe you.” Paul’s eyes are bright and he looks unbothered by Daryl’s harshness. He slips his hand into Daryl’s and Daryl lets him.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh, okay.
> 
> So, like, super roughly in my head I was planning on making this a three-part fic. Part II would probably focus on the boys building their life together and Part III would throw them into the apocalypse. But idk, so tell me in the comments what you'd like to see from this. Any ideas/suggestions are welcome!
> 
> This is going to be slow-going. I'm a nurse in the middle of a pandemic so fair warning, it's going to take a very long time for me to post anything more. I hope y'all stick around anyways! 
> 
> Also, please point out mistakes - Nobody else read this through, and I am by no means a writer!


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